


Back to Square One

by Mia_Zeklos



Series: Steven Moffat Appreciation Week [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The words are echoing in the whole country, but the message is for one person alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Square One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fifth day of the Steven Moffat appreciation week - 'favourite thing about Sherlock series 3' - so of course I chose Jim's (implied) return and wrote Sherlock's point of view for it.  
> Also for the man who passes the message - yes, it is who you think it is. His surname is technically Irish so I went with the Irish accent too; it wasn't mentioned in ACD Canon.  
> Comments are most welcome.

There's some disturbance on the plane; he can tell by the way the staff are briskly walking about and barking 'yes, sir' into their headsets and - which is probably the biggest sign, really - the plane is turning around and going down.

Sherlock frowns - after all, what could have possibly gone wrong? Mycroft is never wrong and never does his work in half, which could only mean one thing.

Thing aren't going according to plan.

There's a screen a few seats ahead and, given that he's alone here, save for the staff, Sherlock can see it perfectly. He only notices it now, because it turns itself on all of a sudden just as one of Mycroft's minions shows up and hands him a phone.

Mycroft, of course. Who else could it be?

He's exhausted from the conversation even as he starts it. He wouldn't admit it in front of anyone, but he's tired of everything by now and really not in the mood for his brother's gloating, even if it's just over the phone.

As it turns out, though, Mycroft hasn't called just to get him riled up. He's needed back in England - needed by England, as it seems - and his brother doesn't tell him what exactly he's needed for, but it doesn't matter right now, because Sherlock gets distracted by something else.

From what he can get from the pilot's cabin, there's a screen there too and it's playing some kind of a feedback loop because Sherlock can hear the same thing repeating over and over again and it's been going on for about two minutes now.

What he can see on the screen in front of him as the picture finally stabilises, though, is completely different.

When people say that their heart skips a beat, Sherlock decides, they're lying. What his heart  _does_ do is stutter over itself as if it can't keep up with the stunned surprise that spreads over his mind along with the excitement that suddenly comes to him like an adrenaline rush.

The screen shows someone with his back to him and he can see the back of a very familiar head before the man turns around and looks at the screen with those dark, dark eyes that lack the shine they had the last time Sherlock had seen them.

And those eyes stare stright at him.

"Missed me?"

It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. There's not a single reason for this to be actually happening and Sherlock knows that, even if there had been a way around what he had seen on that roofrop, what he should feel is horror and fear and anger.

He could excuse it with being in shock, he supposes. Maybe all of those emotions will come later when the plane lands and he's outside where Mycroft, John and Mary are still around to see him go and then return because of a man that can't possibly be alive. Perhaps the surprise has taken him off guard and that's why he can't feel anything.

He can excuse himself with that in front of them, but not in front of himself, he knows, because shock would mean being completely unable to feel, which isn't the truth.

When the emotion finally comes, it's excitement mixed with disbelief and some kind of frantic urgency to stand up and start doing something about it. Something, anything.

It's not possible, but Sherlock humours himself for a while.

Almost three years now. Almost three years of runing and hiding and then coming back home and hundreds of different cases and, of course, Magnusen, but it had all been to fend off the boredom. With Magnusen in the end it hadn't been a case but a rescue mission for Mary and there hadn't been any pleasure in doing it - just the cold weight of necessity that hung over him.

And now this. Jim is still staring at him and the feedback is still coming from the pilot's cabin, which means that this is for him. As far as he can tell from the people marching around him, the video is being played on every screen in the country, but this is for _him_.

_It's not possible_ , Sherlock keeps telling himself because he's too afirad to hope.

Except it is, it might be, because it would it be the first time he'd been fooled by this man. It wouldn't even be the tenth time, and Sherlock can feel a delighted smile spreading over his lips. He feels high, but this is better than anything he's taken before, because it's real. It's not something he needs to numb his brain; quite on the contrary, actually - the gears in his heqad are working on full speed as he immediately starts examining the possibilities, the chances he'd had to escape, a possible doopelahnger, what about Richard Brook, or maybe the blood and the gun hadn't been real and he'd faked it somehow and.... 

He almost feels like laughing. His mind feels _alive_.

Sherlock tries to control the thrill that courses through him at least for now and lowers his head so the cameras - and there are undoubtedly a lot of them here - won't catch him do anything out of the ordinary as he speaks.

"If it's you," his voice is a strained whisper, gritted through his teeth, "If it's really you... I know you can hear me." There's nothing, of course, but he hadn't expected anything. "Give me something I can work with."

"Sir?" Sherlock almost jumps in his place - and, if there have been any witnesses, he's going to violently deny doing it - when a man from the staff touches his shoulder. He nods at him to speak and just then notices the scar that crosses half his face. "He told me to tell you,''24601'."

Not Mycroft, of course - he wouldn't waste his time with cryptic mesages unless he wanted to get on somebody's - usually John's - nerves. Not Mycroft, even though he probably has to let his brother know that he's slipped a bit when hiring personnel.

Sherlock stares after the man. Tall, blonde, Irish accent, his hand is calloused on several places that aren't very typical for someone who handles a gun often, but a rifle? Yes. Definitely. 

24601\. It's little to work with when it's such a popular reference, but that's exactly what makes Sherlock's smile grow all the wider.

The game is on.


End file.
